


flinch

by sleepdrunk



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Episode: s02e02 Bigfoot: The Convincing Evidence, M/M, Tickling, but like let's not get weird, friends to whatever this is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:15:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27009463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepdrunk/pseuds/sleepdrunk
Summary: the tickling onewritten some time in 2018, when the world was new and you could still fuck strangers
Relationships: Ryan Bergara/Shane Madej
Comments: 1
Kudos: 22





	flinch

**Author's Note:**

> a re upload like i said. a lovely anon was looking for this one. i thought i had permanently deleted it-- seriously, i looked and looked. it wasn't in my docs, not in my irl google account docs, my sock puppet, not on my computer or in scrivener or on my notes app or emailed to a poor unsuspecting prof or scribbled on a napkin, nowhere. 
> 
> but then. miracle of miracles. i get this message from the shyan book club which prompts me to actually search my sock puppet gmail. when i deleted this fic from the archive, i got the requisite 'you asked for this don't blame us, here's a txt and html file, bitch'. and lo, i had indeed simply archived the emails rather than trashing them. oh happy day. 
> 
> i have not re read this. it could be terrible.
> 
> i still fucking hate being tickled.

_Bigfoot: The Convincing Evidence_

First, a flinch. The muscular bronze hand-- wide with raised, lumpy veins-- brushed down Shane’s side as its owner assisted him with his climbing harness.

“Ooh-- ticklish! Sorry about that,” he said, his tone strong, professional; detached. Rouge creeped up Shane’s neck nonetheless. “Okay bud, you're good to go. Pick a spot on the wall and we'll be over in a sec. Alright-- Ryan, right? Let’s check your gear--”

Interesting. The image stayed in his mind. He didn't quite know why, it wasn't as if Shane had the corner on being ticklish. It was just...something about that freakishly long torso and nine-foot-long legs, reacting to a feather-light touch.

“Hah. We're two bumps on a log.” Long bony fingers handed Ryan a can of beer. The aluminum felt like ice in his hand. “Ryan. Bumps on a log. Get it?”

The smell of loam and rotting wood filled his lungs-- but the strongest sensation was what he could hear. _Nothing._ A constant patter of rainfall underscored soft footfalls; the occasional rustle of an escaping animal-- but beyond that was _nothing._ No highways, no airplanes, no voices other than their own.

Ryan stared at Shane’s hand, and missed the joke.

“Ryan?”

He came back to himself at the sound of Shane’s voice and he snorted a laugh. “Jesus Christ. Two bumps on a log. Waiting for Bigfoot.” He waited a beat, and then lunged for Shane; trying to poke him. Shane dodged left and then right, all the while trying to finish his beer and not stand up. He misjudged a feint, and Ryan landed a two-fingered jab in his side. It was light by anyone's standard, but Shane doubled over where he sat. Laughter was bubbling up in his chest and he could barely keep the mouthful of beer where it was. He swallowed and swivelled away from Ryan shielding his middle with crossed arms.

“Holy shit, you are ticklish.”

“Congratulations, you cracked the case.” Shane shot back the rest of his beer and tried to level his best glare at Ryan. “Now fuck off.”

Ryan’s laughter rang out through the trees.

* * *

Soft eyes looked down into the gulley below, black eyelashes belying the direction of his gaze. Slimy green algae covered the boulders and stones, making the way treacherous. There wasn’t much light left in the evening, but they weren’t heading back yet.

A sense of awe washed over Ryan. Shane saw nature and stillness, a natural world filled with fascinating phenomenon. All of these tangible things were a conduit for him-- to the mystery of what lay in wait. Of what terrifying and wonderful things that might possibly exist.

Shane reached blindly to his side, and grasped Ryan’s hand. Bare fingertips peeking out of wool nestled against cold leather.

"Let's go out again in the morning, first thing." Ryan looked up at Shane, out of breath and expectant. He could feel the ghost of his helmet and knew his hair was a sweaty disaster, but Shane didn't look much better.

They stood outside the Bigfoot Motel. The rain poured down, shimmering light from neon signs reflecting in the slick black pavement.

Shane smiled, his eyes disappearing behind his eyelids and steamed glasses. “Yeah,” he replied; like he’s forgotten to speak. “Yeah, that would be great.” A droplet of water fell from his hair and landed on his nose before dropping to the ground. They stood under the entryway pediment and out of the downpour, but a day hiking in the sodden California state forest had done the job already.

Ryan reached up and smeared a muddy spot on Shane’s forehead with a thumb.

“Blech--” he looked at his hand. “I didn't mean to make that worse. Let's get upstairs.”

Ryan opened the door and ushered Shane’s unwieldy form inside

* * *

The bell above the door tinkled and disturbed the musty silence inside. Jackets rustled in the tight space and boots squelched; a futile attempt to clean them off on a mat that was so wet it was floating on a quarter inch of water.

Inside the lobby was a kindly looking woman in her fifties, with fluffy grey hair and no makeup; her face freckled with the evidence of a life outdoors. She wore a generous grey sweatshirt emblazoned with “ _YOU KNOW WHAT THEY SAY ABOUT BIG FEET_ ” in a ribbon around a portrait of her motel’s titular character. Up two flights of stairs whose orange and brown carpet were clean but due for a vacuum, and a brass key in a sticky lock.

Shane dumped his neon green hiking backpack on the floor. He peeled off his drenched jean jacket, followed by his grey knit toque, and stretched his limbs.

He caught Ryan looking pointedly at his belly, where his t-shirt rode up. He dropped his arms and pulled it down.

“Do not fucking dare.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, dude.” The grin spreading across Ryan’s face gave him away, though; and Shane jumped one of the single beds like a hurdle.

“Seriously, though--” he was laughing quietly, a bit of a wheeze on the inhale-- just the edge of worry in his voice. Ryan stopped in his tracks at the end of the bed and sat down. He tried to look as though he was catching his breath. “My cousin-- I had this cousin who used to babysit a lot. He liked to tickle me all the time, but he just wouldn’t stop. I’d be just giggling but to the point where I was screaming at him to let go of me, but he wouldn’t. I couldn’t breathe. It’s probably weird but-- it just freaks me out. And then when people find out you’re ticklish--” Shane turned, mid-sentence, and busied himself with the contents of the bedside table. He had to stoop to reach the clock-radio without sitting down, a nearly comic image in combination with his stubborn avoidance of Ryan’s gaze.

“I’m so sorry. Uh, honestly. People can get fuckin’ weird about tickling.”

Shane sat down on the bed, diagonally across from Ryan. “No-- God. No, you weren’t. You weren’t creepy.” His elbow dug into his long thigh, thin under rough cotton. He rubbed his forehead and shook fingers through his wet hair. He pinched the bridge of his nose. Ryan wondered if his friend had remembered the lens-case-- eye infections topped Shane’s list of _‘shit to avoid’._ Ryan wondered if he’d brought spare glasses as well, to wear on the ride home and thought how Shane-sans-glasses always looked more relaxed and peaceful.

A sound-- a soft _pat pat_ and Ryan looked up from his torn cuticles. Shane patted the duvet.

“You didn’t even do anything, don’t worry. C’mere.”

“You sure?” Ryan crossed the floor but stood in front of Shane.

“Yeah, I mean-- I'm prepared to forgive you completely so long as you admit it was a ploy--”

“To get closer to your giant noodle body?”

“Yeah yeah,” Shane wiggled his arms. “Deals on Mazdas.”

Two pairs of hands found each other and play out a mock battle. Ryan stood between knees and tested his strength, a little; grinning.

“We never talked about-- the thing.” And he felt a little panicked and a little invasive, bringing this up near a bed in shared accommodations only shared because of work--

“Oh yeah, the thing! I was hoping you’d get specific.” Their palms are flat against each other. “We should definitely talk about the _thing._ Its significance on _events_. Contributing factors leading up to _thing_ , and so on--”

Ryan shook his head, grin refusing to be chased away. He leaned down and kissed him.

Shane leaned back, still grasping Ryan's hands and pulling him into his space. Their

Fingers slotted together, Ryan chose placing a knee next to a hip to steady himself and lean in. Below him Shane craned his neck, trying to kiss his lips, but Ryan remained frustratingly out of reach.

“Oh my God, is this what it's like to be tall?” He said against Shane's mouth in between a chant of kisses; initiated by either of them, or both.

Joined hands rested on Ryan's hips, his elbows stuck out backwards. He leaned forward and brought his other leg up, knees bracketing the body beneath him-- kissing Shane’s mouth again and chewing a little on his lip; giving and taking control. Cold knuckles ran up and down his sides, displacing his thin tee.

He twitched a little and released Shane's hand, smiling into the kiss. Wide palms slid against his chilled skin, rapidly warming-- a shiver took over his body for a second. He’d never been immune to tickling either, and Shane stilled his hands.

“Oh, uh-”

“It’s fine.”

“Since when did you start looking that good in a t-shirt? It's unfair. I-- Jesus, you could advertise brawny paper towels or something.”

Ryan snorted and lifted his tee off in one smooth motion. He could feel the blush climbing from belly to neck to his face and tried to ignore it.

“God dammit. Uh-- I mean, thanks?” Shane soothed down goosebumps on Ryan's forearms, and raised his arms to let his shirt be pulled off. It landed next to Ryan's.

“You're welcome, and it's true.”

Ryan looked at his hands on Shane's bare shoulders-- warm gold on alabaster-- before he pushed and Shane lay prostrate. He traced his touch from protruding sternum to visible ribs above a belly, thin but undefined.

Ryan snatched his hand away with an apology and kissed Shane's neck, hands planted on the mattress instead.

Silently, Shane grasped his elbow. He held Ryan's gaze and guided his hand to rest against his ribs.. Ryan’s eyes felt heavy and hyperfocused, and after a beat he crumpled down to kiss Shane, sinking to rest on his elbow. With Shane's quiet encouragement, he floated light touches up and down over skin, and ribs beneath. Shane jerked involuntarily but held Ryan's hand firm.

Hips sinking to meet Shane’s, Ryan peppered kisses across his face from lips to jaw, to the crook of his neck.

“Are you ticklish anywhere else? Because I really want to fuck you.”

**Author's Note:**

> i dont write anymore but leave a comment or whatever, it'll go right into satan's spank bank


End file.
